


delicate

by kinpika



Category: My Candy Love
Genre: F/M, Helping move to the farm, Post ep40, mentions of grief, request from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 00:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: She lets a few seconds pass, before she squeezes him back. “I love you,” is the mumble against a shirt that needed a good iron, but the circumstances didn’t change it. “I’ll do anything, you know that.”“I know. I love you, too.”





	delicate

Candy finds herself in front of the door to the apartment, double and triple checking her bag despite herself. Although she was absolutely sure she’d come with the right things (this time), a worry still played at the back of her head that she was missing something crucial. But no, everything was there, just as she’d packed it the night before. List ticked and written off, yet still.

At least this time, Leigh and Rosalya were nowhere to be seen, and it was just Lysander, the apartment and herself. That thought didn’t have her stomach bunch nearly as much as it used to, settling itself to a simple, light flutter, that warmed her despite the weather. 

Ringing the doorbell, Candy stretches her arms above her head. It was going to be one of the last few times here, from what all the talk had been about. Lysander was packing up and moving onto the farm, going from a once a week, to once a weekend, to now semi-permanently. Only back in the city maybe once a fortnight, if he was lucky. 

They were ignoring the inevitable. Candy knew and recognised that much. George had taken another bad turn, and reality was starting to loom a little closer. 

Which was exactly why she was in front of Leigh and Lysander’s apartment.

Ringing the doorbell once more, hands clasped behind her back, Candy rocked back on her heels. Not a minute later, the door swung open, Lysander before her, dishevelled and beautiful. She didn’t comment on the bags under his eyes, the way his hair stuck up in different directions, or how his shirt was untucked the entire way around. No, Candy sets her bag on the ground, winds her arms around his neck, and hugs him tight.

There’s no ‘how are you’s, because that was off topic. Banned, according to Rosalya, which suited them all fine. A small ‘hi’, whispered into his ear, as she set about smoothing his unruly hair, noticing the barest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. There he was, under all the lack of sleep and too many thoughts catching up with him. Lysander was under all of that - it was just a little bit of work to get there.

“I brought lunch for the drive, and already put my things in the car.”

“Thank you… for doing this.” Fingers threading together, Candy leads them through the apartment, around the bags in the hallway, towards the kitchen. Barely anything recognisable as Lysander’s was left, save for a few photos that Rosalya insisted on being left behind. Candy had already seen his room, bare as anything, and didn’t want to go there again. All week they had been packing _that_  room up, and finding things from high school. Going through notebooks and finding pens that no longer worked, things filled from end to end, everything put into organised and labelled boxes. Back of the car, almost spilling into the front.

Lysander sets about in a regular rhythm, kettle on, some cakes pulled out of the fridge from the day before. Sets things up, without lifting his eyes off the ground. Candy settles on a stool, watching him move about. They’d leave in about an hour, maybe, maybe not. It had taken at least a month of arguing up and down with her parents about this, and honestly? She didn’t regret a thing. They might’ve been a little young, but when Lysander looks up, the fog leaving his eyes, and seeing her, Candy knows that smile was what made it worth it. 

Tugging on his shirt when he manages to get a little closer, Candy wraps her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek firmly against his chest. There’s no hesitation to return the hug, not anymore, and the squeeze Lysander gives her still makes her heart run a mile a minute. And she knows, of course she knows, circumstances weren’t great, everything was so negative, everyone stepping around so carefully. Not wanting to tip the balance.

But when she pulls back, the grin on her face wasn’t leaving. Not anytime soon, when Lysander’s brows raise in question. “I know… it’s probably not right… but I’m happy. That we’re moving in together.” The words don’t flow so nicely, and the catch in her throat is there. 

And Lysander? If she was anyone else, she would say his face didn’t seem to change. But the softness was all over him, the sigh that left him was not angry or upset, but had tinges of a bitter sweetness to them. Wrapping his arms back around her, Lysander held her so tightly, so closely, she could hear his heartbeat perfectly. “I feel the same. _Thank you_ , for everything.”

She lets a few seconds pass, before she squeezes him back. “I love you,” is the mumble against a shirt that needed a good iron, but the circumstances didn’t change it. “I’ll do anything, you know that.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

They seperate with a small laugh on Candy’s behalf, hands moving from his middle, to his shoulders, to cup his face. “I love you,” she says once more, voice more sure, more steady. Lysander’s face doesn’t crumple, but Candy knows he’s getting close to that point. So she stops him, stops it, doesn’t push him, doesn’t _want_  to push him, and leans back. Her hands don’t leave his face, thumbs continuing to brush over the swell of his cheeks. So thin, so pale, under her hands. No comment, no need to, just needed to change direction.

“Come on. Where’s your bags? I’ll put them in the car. You get changed, too.”

Lysander’s nod is no longer mechanic, but he takes her hands in his, pressing his lips gently against the curve of her wrists. “Thank you.” He says, with meaning.

“Always.” And she meant that, too.

 

Now, if only they remembered where the keys were.


End file.
